Off Record
by Meia
Summary: Klavier Gavin talks to a lot of people and does a lot of things in the orbit of Apollo's personal tragedy. Some of it might even have helped. Spoilers for all of Ace Attorney 5.


Written for a prompt on the PWKM:

_So when Apollo was talking to Aura, they seemed to have a connection through losing the people they wanted a more intimate relationship with. What if Apollo and Clay had agreed to take that next step, but only after Clay got back from space? _

_So actual prompt for some hurt/comfort: Klavier saw Apollo in Case 3, before he lost Clay. Now he stumbles across him when Apollo is in what I like to call his Vengeance Gear, wrapped in bandages and wearing his dead almost!lover's coat, and he knows something is majorly wrong. Cue him being a prosecutor and getting to the bottom of it. _

* * *

**Off Record**

It's whimsy that has him in the courthouse at barely past nine in the morning - his current case is only going to trial tomorrow, but there's nothing waiting for him today except paperwork, interviews, and the precinct's terrible coffee, and Klavier is a firm believer in starting his days off on the right foot. He'd seen Apollo's name on the courthouse's schedule for the week, so in this case, he's decided that the right foot is dropping by to wish Apollo's team luck and maybe make fun of him a bit.

The security guard's salute is accompanied by an odd look when he heads to the defendant's lobby, and to his surprise, the ever-punctual Apollo isn't there. The room is empty except for a short man in an oversized blue jacket, and from his angle, Klavier can vaguely see that the stranger's slicked-back brown hair... sticks up in...

"...Herr Forehead?"

The man turns around and it _is_ Apollo. The jacket - somehow familiar now that Klavier can get a good look at it - is draped over his shoulders, explaining its strange fit, and a length of bandage is looped carelessly around his head, covering his right eye.

"Prosecutor Gavin? What are you doing here?"

"I heard your office had a case today and I came to say hello to your lovely colleague, of course," Klavier says. Even with only one visible eye, Apollo's eyeroll is suitably theatric.

"Athena should be here in a bit if you want to stick around... and aren't you the one who's always going on about how busy you are?"

"Nothing but reports and reviews today," Klavier sighs, "But I'll be on my way soon, much as it pains me to decline your kind invitation." He politely ignores Apollo's snort before continuing. "Before that, though, allow me to wonder what you've managed to do to yourself."

"What? Oh, you mean - " Apollo starts, gesturing vaguely at his eye.

"I could also mean your new look," Klavier says helpfully. "You really shouldn't mix two primary colours like that."

Apollo is silent for a few long seconds.

"It's just a sty," he says finally. "And the - the look is temporary."

"Oh?" Klavier says, but Apollo doesn't seem inclined to elaborate. The expression on his face is very far away.

They both start when the door to the lobby opens noisily. Two officers come in to examine the room, and Klavier watches them start the standard pre-transfer check without interest. Apollo's client must be en route.

"I'll take that as my cue," Klavier says. "We shall do lunch if it's in your heart to rescue me from year-end assessments, ja? With Fraulein Cykes as well, of course."

Klavier's already turning to go as he speaks, but he doesn't fail to catch Apollo's face going completely blank at Athena's name. Odd, when they'd been getting along so well at the academy, but he doesn't quite have time to pry into Apollo's interpersonal issues now, not if he wants to make enough headway into his work to be available for lunch, even if it's more of a 30/70 chance of Apollo actually calling. He nods politely at the guards as he slips out and makes his way to the prosecutor's office.

All in all, not quite the ideal start to his day that he was looking for, but at least he'll have something to think about later. There's already a mug of coffee and a pile of manila folders waiting for him when he steps into his own room - he's sometimes terrified by the efficacy of the secretaries around here - and in deference to his fellow prosecutors caught in the December crunch, he makes sure his door is firmly closed before he starts up his sound system.

With a long sip of coffee and a sigh, Klavier puts his phone on the table and Apollo's uncharacteristic behaviour out of his mind, and reaches for the top of the stack.

He's two hours and two files in when his phone starts ringing. A surprised glance at his watch tells him that it's still too early for a lunch appointment and a surprised glance at his phone tells him that it's the security office, for some reason.

It takes him a while to make sense of the babbling coming from the other side - Americans speak so fast, he wouldn't mind so much if they would at least enunciate while they were at it - something about a security perimeter, something about high alert, something about a bombing at the courthouse -

"_Was_?" he snaps. "Slow down. What happened?"

"A bomb went off, sir!" the officer repeats. "Courtroom 4 was totally destroyed! We're still trying to secure the scene, but..."

"And the casualties?" Klavier asks, suddenly cold.

"One fatality," the officer says. "A detective - Candice Arme - " A well-regarded detective, but one he knows by reputation only, and Klavier is ashamed that one of his first feelings is of relief. "Paramedics are treating people on site for smoke inhalation, but nothing really serious. Oh, and the lead of the defense team was hit by some rubble, they sent him to the hospital just in case - "

"Thank you, officer," Klavier interrupts. "Have you found the perpetrator? What about the motive?"

"Sorry, sir," the officer tells him. "We don't have anything yet. It's still a bit crazy over there. We're thinking that it might have something to do with the trial they were holding in Courtroom 4. Ah, and the courthouse is off-limits until further notice, so if you have any trials today..."

"Nein," Klavier assures him. "Danke. Keep me posted if the situation changes."

"Yes, sir."

Klavier is slow to pull his phone away from his ear when the officer hangs up, and when he finally does, it's to dial the extension for the secretaries' office.

"Hallo? Ja - ja, you've heard? ...you too, and the others, of course. Ja. Actually, a favour, if you please - I need you to pull me the file on State vs. Starbuck."

And this is how Klavier finds out that Apollo's best friend is dead.

* * *

Klavier knows Clay Terran as a few surprisingly wild stories when they've had a little too much to drink, and as a young man with a bright grin and an arm slung over Apollo's shoulder on Apollo's lock screen. Which, considering how private Apollo likes to be about personal matters, is telling in and of itself.

The part of him that always notices the slightest thing out of place, that he uses to pull his cases together, is satisfied at the explanation for Apollo's strange behaviour, but the rest of him regrets his earlier flippancy. He thinks to apologise, but there's no real point in it now. All it would do is help Klavier feel better about himself; this isn't the sort of thing that Apollo holds a grudge over, and their relationship is not one built on being delicate about the other's feelings.

It had been Apollo to set that pace, oh, more than a year out by now. The prosecutor's office had been unimpressed about his brother's - about his brother, at the time, and the precinct had been torn between resentment for his landing Daryan in jail and suspicion over his association with Daryan in the first place, and public reaction to his brother's final trial had him gorged sick on pity. Through it all, Apollo's dry - if not unsympathetic - approach had helped more than Apollo would ever know.

Klavier shakes his head and leans back in his chair, trying to put those thoughts out of his mind and also trying to ignore the constant beeping from his email client. All trials deemed non-essential had been suspended, and ever since the notice went out, his inbox had been a constant parade of disgruntled colleagues getting a little too happy with the reply-all button.

His own trial hadn't been spared, and while it would chafe for any case of his to be considered less than important, the sudden free time - for an admittedly liberal definition of free time - is welcome. Besides, as unyielding as he likes to pretend, even the chief prosecutor will have to admit that the current circumstances permit some tardy paperwork.

At least, that's what Klavier tells himself as he slides the case file into a drawer, slides his other files on top of it, and sets off for the hospital.

He makes a quick detour to his favorite florist for a get-well bouquet. He suspects that they've misintepreted his request somehow; the arrangement they offer him heavily features red roses and is massive enough that he can barely hold it with one hand, but it's too lovely to waste and Apollo's reaction will be priceless, so he accepts it without comment and applies himself to the challenge of transporting it intact by motorcycle.

The hospital is small enough that the wards are more like repurposed examination rooms, although given that they can only fit one patient in each, perhaps they're actually more comfortable than a larger facility would be. He finds Apollo's room without difficulty and opens the door after a perfunctory knock.

It seems he's interrupted some sort of disagreement - Trucy has her hands on her hips and a surprisingly fierce look on her face, and Apollo is half sitting up in bed, the pallor of his skin accentuated by dark green hospital scrubs and the white bandages wrapped around his arms.

They both look up in surprise when he walks in, and the double take and sour look that Apollo directs at the bouquet makes it entirely worth the trouble he'd gone through.

"Prosecutor Gavin! And flowers!" Trucy says brightly.

"Those are definitely flowers, yes," Apollo agrees, dry as the jars of calcium sulphate lined up on Detective Skye's desk. "You shouldn't have."

"And come empty handed?" Klavier replies, offering his best smile. "Where are your manners, Herr Forehead?"

A muffled grumble is the only protest Apollo raises to that, the surest indication that he's feeling as terrible as he looks.

"I'll go get some water," Trucy says, skipping towards the door. With one hand on the doorknob, she turns to level another fierce glare at Apollo. "And don't even think about getting out of bed, Polly! Mr. Gavin, make sure Polly stays in bed!"

"It's something I'm quite accomplished at," Klavier says agreeably, "Keeping people in bed. But what appears to be the problem here?"

"_Prosecutor Gavin_," Apollo hisses, shooting a sidelong glance at Trucy with all the scandal of a man who has never seen a teenager use the internet.

"He wants to go to the courthouse!" Trucy tells him.

Klavier blinks. "Have you not heard? All trials have been postponed."

"No," Apollo shakes his head. "I know that. But I can't just sit around - Haven't _you_ heard? They arrested Juniper for the bombing!"

"Fraulein Woods? That's ridiculous," Klavier says immediately. Equally ridiculous, it seems, is the security team's definition of an update to the situation.

"Athena's beside herself," Apollo says. "She's investigating now, but Mr. Wright's busy with something, and I don't want her going at it all alone."

"Stay in bed, and stop distressing the Fraulein magician," Klavier says with a slow frown. "I can tell you precisely what Fraulein Cykes will find."

"What? You've seen the bomb site?"

"No," Klavier tells him, "And neither will she. It is my understanding that the bomb squad has locked it down, and they tend to be... zealous. I doubt that even I could gain access."

"That doesn't make any sense," Apollo says. "The trial is tomorrow!"

"What?" Klavier says, frown deepening.

"But if nobody can investigate..."

"At the very least, you'll be on equal footing," Klavier says.

Apollo levels him an unamused look, then sighs.

"I guess it won't be the first case I've started under bad circumstances," he says, turning towards the window. The blinds are open, and the glare from the sun casts his face into shadow.

"...but you weren't expecting another so soon?" Klavier asks, struck by sudden daring. The room is quiet enough that he can hear Apollo's sharp inhale.

"How did you - "

"I read your file," Klavier admits. "Initial speculation was that it was connected to the bombing, after all. It seems, though, that they've settled on a different angle."

"...yeah," Apollo says, looking away. "It's - I should... it's Juniper that I need to think about now."

Trucy opens the door noisily before he can answer, dragging a bucket with her - the only thing she could find that would actually fit the bouquet - and by unspoken agreement, they move the talk to lighter matters. They're chased out half an hour later by the nurse, and after he sees Trucy to the bus stop, he heads over to the courthouse for the second time that day.

As expected, Courtroom 4 is still sealed off and neither his badge nor his best smile can get him on the scene, although it's far less busy than he'd have thought. A few officers are guarding the lines of police tape, but he doesn't see any of the bomb squad's distinctive uniforms amongst them, and nobody seems to have answers to any of his questions.

Suspicion coils low in his gut, and speaking to the detectives at the precinct does nothing to dispel it. The mood at the precinct is subdued, air heavy from the loss of one of their own. He goes as far as to brave Ema Skye's wrath - she's always surly around this time of the year, when the forensics program starts taking in new applicants - to probe her for information, but there's even less that she can tell him, even though she seems strangely willing to share.

"Something stinks about this one, Gavin," she says bluntly, "And I don't think it's the court bombing that upstairs is worried about."

"The Starbuck case, then?"

"Hell if I know," she shrugs. "Critical thinking isn't in this job description. Now get out, some people actually have to do honest work around here."

The winter sun has set by the time he makes his way back to the prosecutor's office, a fitting accompaniment to the lack of illumination over his misgivings. His final recourse is one that he'd rather not turn to, but he supposes that's what makes it the final recourse. The carved mahogany door makes a satisfyingly solid noise as he raps his knuckles against it, the sound echoing through the empty corridor.

"Come in," says the chief prosecutor.

Edgeworth looks faintly surprised when he enters the office.

"Prosecutor Gavin? What brings you here?"

"Herr Edgeworth," Klavier says. "I'd like to talk to you about the investigation for tomorrow's trial."

"I believe Payne was the prosecutor appointed to it," Edgeworth says, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "And if you have any issues with how an investigation is being conducted, you'll have to take it up with the detective in charge."

"Gladly," Klavier says. "If there were one to take up with."

Edgeworth looks sharply at him, as if seeing Klavier for the first time. "...you wanted to talk?"

Klavier has reason to believe that Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth does not like him very much, but the least of his many virtues is that he is a fair man, and he listens without comment to everything that Klavier has to say.

"You've been busy," Edgeworth says, voice entirely level, when he's done.

"It was worth being busy over," he counters.

"Because of your faith in Ms. Woods?" Edgeworth asks coolly. "You were acquainted during the outreach programme with Themis Academy, weren't you? I was given to understand that you weren't one to bring sentimentality into the courtroom, Prosecutor Gavin."

Klavier doesn't flinch, almost surprised at his own calm.

"Because something is not right about the Woods trial," he replies, looking at Edgeworth straight in the eye.

Unexpectedly, it's Edgeworth who looks away first, although Klavier gets the impression that it's not because Edgeworth is backing down, but rather, because he's satisfied with what he's seen.

"Many things haven't been right for a long time," Edgeworth says, so quietly that Klavier isn't sure if he'd meant to be heard. "Prosecutor Gavin, I won't insult either of our intelligence by suggesting that nothing is out of place about the current circumstances. Neither will I ask you to trust me - baseless faith is not an appropriate indulgence in our profession. However, I believe that there are people at tomorrow's trial who will bring it to the conclusion that we both seek."

"Herr Edgeworth," Klavier says in slow comprehension. "You - "

Edgeworth interrupts before he can finish.

"Does this adequately address your concerns, Gavin?"

"Danke sehr," he says, which is not an answer, but Edgeworth has given him more than he'd expected and he doesn't want to lie. He bows faintly and turns to go. "I think I've taken enough of your time."

"Oh, and Prosecutor Gavin - " Edgeworth says before pushes the door open.

"Ja?"

"I don't seem to have received your end-of-year assessments," Edgeworth tells him.

"Ah," Klavier says. "An oversight that I shall correct shortly."

"See that you do," Edgeworth says.

Seeing that he does takes Klavier to the far end of one in the morning. By the time he gets back to his apartment, he's too drained to do more than comb his hair out carelessly and throw himself face-down into bed, and he only remembers at the last moment to text Apollo luck and remind him to take care of his flowers. Somehow, it still takes him a very long time to fall asleep.

* * *

Juniper Woods is declared innocent, of course, although not before Apollo ends up in the hospital again with a fresh set of injuries. Klavier only hears about everything when the excitement is past, and he drops by the Wright office's customary post-trial celebration to offer his own regards and a small token of congratulations. He thinks that the small pot of heirloom tomato seedlings is somewhat lacking in romance, but he'd been assured that Juniper would appreciate them more than a cut bouquet, and he's willing to bow to Athena's superior knowledge about her childhood friend.

Apollo, _he_ gets flowers, his own opinion notwithstanding. Impressively, the bouquet manages to be even more ostentatious than the last, and if he doesn't like it, Klavier thinks, then he can solve that problem by not getting hospitalised.

The lights in the hospital room have been turned down and the blinds drawn across the windows, and Apollo doesn't stir when Klavier walks in. Judging by the IV line snaking towards the crook of his elbow, the hospital had taken a somewhat more proactive approach to keeping Apollo in bed this time around.

It's a little disappointing that Apollo isn't awake to react, but Apollo's breathing is level and his colour seems improved even in the dim light. The first bouquet is still in its bucket, balanced precariously on the tiny bedside table, and from the half-dissolved aspirin tablets in the water, somebody had at least made a perfunctory attempt to keep it alive.

He's arranging his new offering next to its predecessor, trying to keep them from merging into a terrifying singularity of petals and foliage, when a low groan makes him look up sharply. Apollo's shifting uncomfortably in bed, on a losing struggle to open his eyes.

"Mngh," Apollo mumbles. "...Clay?"

Klavier freezes.

"Nein," he says finally, lightly, with a glance at the IV stand. "It must be excellent stuff, what they have you on."

Apollo doesn't seem appeased, fingers curling against his blankets. "Clay," he slurs thickly, "What're you - "

"None of that," Klavier says, pressing down gently on Apollo's shoulder. "Go back to sleep, Herr - Apollo."

Apollo settles back against the sheets restlessly, a troubled look on his face. Klavier watches for a few more seconds to make sure that Apollo really has fallen back asleep, and leaves as quietly as he can.

The next time he runs into Apollo, Apollo gives no indication of remembering that awkward interlude. He gives no indication of even noticing Klavier's presence, actually, busy as he is arguing with the admin on duty - Clarence, he thinks the man's name is - at the court library.

"-can't just go around letting people look at open cases," Clarence is saying. The note of irritation in his voice suggests that the back-and-forth has already lasted a while.

"I'm with the Wright agency! This is our case!"

"Yeah, alright," Clarence says. "So you left your stuff at home and you think we're a photocopying service now?"

Apollo takes a deep breath, and Klavier decides that an intervention is in order before his Chords of Steel end up disrupting the morning trials, which had finally returned to a semblance of proper schedule.

"Let the man have his files," Klavier cuts in. "He isn't trying to make your job difficult. That's something he usually reserves for me."

"Prosecutor Gavin!"

The look on Apollo's face suggests that he's torn between annoyance and gratitude, and gratitude wins out when Clarence finally hands over a thick sheaf of transcripts and evidence records.

"Thanks, Prosecutor Gavin."

"Nichts zu danken," he replies easily. "I take it your trial has been extended?"

"Um," Apollo says, suddenly awkward. "Actually, they're still in court, I think."

Apollo's obviously still not at his best, but that hadn't stopped him from trying to take on Juniper's case, and he'd have expected Apollo to stay in the gallery, at the very least. Apollo catches his inquisitive look and shifts uncomfortably.

"I took a leave of absence from the agency," he admits.

"A leave of absence?" Klavier repeats with genuine surprise.

"There's - a different angle I'm trying to investigate."

"Back at the space centre, you mean?"

"Yeah," Apollo says, and gestures vaguely towards the door. "So I guess I'd better - "

Klavier looks consideringly at his watch, then at Apollo, his best friend's coat draped over his shoulders and his arms wrapped white in bandages.

"Come on," he says.

"What?"

"We are going for lunch - "

"_What_?"

"Then," Klavier continues over Apollo's objection, "I will get you past the perimeter of the space centre."

"You don't have any jurisdiction in this case!"

"And neither do you, now," Klavier points out. "So the only difference between us is that I am allowed onto crime scenes."

Apollo opens his mouth, then closes it, looking unimpressed at Klavier's smile.

They end up at the sandwich bar near the courthouse, an uninspired place that nevertheless finds itself packed during every lunch hour from the captive patronage of lawyers and lawkeepers. It's early yet for the lunchtime crowds, and the place is almost empty when they walk in. He gets the special of the day without thinking much about it, while Apollo's order is somewhat more involved - he's an unexpectedly picky eater, a symptom of years spent cooking to his own tastes.

"Still," Klavier says, after they've settled into a booth near the window, "I assumed you would be at the trial. The defendant - he's a friend of yours, nein?"

"Mr. Starbuck? Yeah, I've known him for ages. Plus, he's - " Apollo stops short, interrupts himself. "He was. He was Clay's mentor."

It's a while before Apollo continues talking. "...Mr. Wright will do a good job, and I - maybe it's better if I'm not on the bench," he says self-deprecatingly. "Clearing Mr. Starbuck isn't... it's not good enough. Not for me. Some defence attorney I call myself, huh."

Klavier shrugs. He's faced too many of the truly guilty to have much patience for misguided guilt. "It serves Herr Starbuck just as well for you to hunt - " _the man that killed your best friend_ " - that mysterious third party you inelegantly started composing an argument around."

"How did you - " Apollo starts in surprise, then sighs. "You read the case file."

Klavier doesn't answer, just takes a bite of his sandwich. Apollo seems content to worry at the edge of the paper wrapper, but he has no reason to let perfectly edible food go to waste.

"It's too late for anything except self-satisfaction, anyway," Apollo says finally, staring down at the tray. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"You seldom do, in court," he replies. "I've never seen it stop you."

Apollo pulls a brief face, and it's almost worrying that it's the only offence he takes. "I don't - if I'm wrong... I don't want to hurt anybody."

_And if you are right?_ Klavier thinks, but he doesn't say it. "It isn't too late to return to the courthouse," he says, "Or use your leave for more pleasant matters. But if I may be forward - "

"You're always forward," Apollo mutters, loud enough to be heard, quiet enough to let by without comment.

Klavier lets it by without comment.

"Doubt can kill a man," he says, instead. "Surely, if not quickly."

Apollo's head snaps up, his visible eye wide with surprise. Apollo seldom takes him seriously outside of court, because Klavier seldom feels the need to be taken seriously out of court, but Apollo's looking at him seriously now, though not with that piercing gaze he turns on witnesses. Klavier has nothing to hide, after all, least of all from him.

"Would you still like that lift?" he asks.

Apollo swallows hard. He's quiet for a long time.

"Please," he says.

* * *

The rest of the story, Klavier finds out from rumours, hearsay, and Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth pulling him into his office for an extensive briefing, after which Klavier gets, in roughly this order,

1) formally introduced to the new - or rather, reinstated - colleague who would be taking up the office next to his,  
2) a seat on a hastily pulled together task force investigating the damage inflicted by the Phantom while he'd been in possession of access to sensitive police material,  
3) no corresponding reduction in his caseload.

"Oh, don't worry," Wright tells him with amusement. "That's what happens when Edgeworth likes someone." For some reason, Wright had pulled Klavier aside for conversation after the deposition for the Phantom's upcoming trial. Perhaps he was lonely; Athena had gravitated to Prosecutor Blackquill once they'd been dismissed, and Apollo was conspicuous in his absence.

Klavier, who hadn't been worrying, frowns.

"You don't have to look like that," Wright laughs. "He's not that bad if you know how to handle him."

He doesn't ask Wright to elaborate because he's a little afraid that Wright will actually answer.

"I'm surprised Herr Forehead isn't in attendance," he says instead, deciding that honesty makes up for it being far from his smoothest attempt at changing a topic.

"He's been busy," Wright says, good humour dropped. "Or so he says. I'm sure you'll see him soon enough."

Soon enough is sooner than Klavier expects. It's just shy of 2am when he gets the text; late even for him, despite what some people like to think about his lifestyle, but building his case against Mr. Robert Harding for the murder of his business partner had lead to reading old property fraud cases had lead to looking for videos of kittens on YouTube, and he's about to hit the repeat button for the fifth time when his phone lights up and buzzes a few centimetres across the table.

_Can you do me a favour?_

It's even rarer for Apollo to be up at this hour, and he starts to type a reply to that effect, before he pauses consideringly and hits dial instead.

Apollo picks up almost immediately. "Prosecutor Gavin? Crap, sorry, did I wake you up?"

"Nein," he says. "You did me a favour, in fact. So how is it that I may repay you?"

"Huh? Oh, uh... actually, I need to clear some stuff out of Clay's place, and you're the only person I know with a car, so I was wondering if..."

"Of course," Klavier replies immediately. "When do you need me?"

"Anytime, I guess," Apollo says. "Whenever's good for you."

"Alright," he says. "See you in 25 minutes."

"Thanks, Prose - wait, what?"

"Dress warmly," Klavier advises, and hangs up.

His phone starts ringing again, which Klavier ignores in favour of pulling a jacket out of his closet. By the time he has his keys in the ignition and his phone carelessly tossed onto the passenger seat, Apollo has switched to texting, punctuation and full sentences foregone in his haste.

_wait_

_gavin_

_no_

_you're already on the way arent you_

Klavier smiles to himself, a cheerful baring of teeth, and makes it to Apollo's apartment in 20.

Apollo's already waiting when he pulls up to the curb. His red windbreaker and the backpack slung over one shoulder makes him look more like a high schooler than an employed professional, an impression that isn't helped by the soft spikes of hair falling over his face.

"I feel as though I should turn myself over to Vice, picking you off the street at this hour," Klavier muses, once Apollo's done buckling himself in.

"This was your idea! - uh, thanks, by the way," Apollo says, indignation swiftly overcome by good manners.

The apartment complex that Apollo directs him to is only a few blocks away, a nondescript building much like Apollo's own. Apollo is obviously familiar with the place; he lets them in - not easily, the door seems inclined to stick in the way of cheap plywood everywhere, but he knows exactly where to slam his weight to force it into submission. Once they walk inside, he tosses his keyring onto a nearby table, an absent, practiced movement, and flips the lights on.

Klavier has always thought that how a person lives says a lot about who that person is. Clay Terran's apartment says very little, as it appears to consist of nothing but cheap furniture and taped-up packing boxes. He thinks, perhaps, that this is what Apollo had been busy with, but there's a fine layer of dust on each box and the air in the tiny apartment is stale. When he looks more closely, he can recognise Apollo's handwriting on some of the boxes, but the rest are labelled with an unfamiliar hand.

"Herr Forehead," he says slowly, "Did Herr Terran have plans for this place?"

"...I should have guessed that you'd notice."

Apollo's standing near the window, and he doesn't turn to face Klavier as he talks.

"Clay was - we were going to move in together after his mission was over," he says, head bowed, like a confession. There is something very lonely about the line of his back.

Oh, Klavier thinks. Of course there is.

"You and Herr Terran - ?"

"No," Apollo says, shaking his head. "But we - when he came back, we were going to try."

For this past week, Klavier has seen Clay Terran as a victim, as the negative space driving Apollo on; it's strange, in the way of things so obvious that they're overlooked, the reminder that he'd been a person. Had been, apparently, somebody loved.

"We signed the lease and everything," Apollo continues, almost conversational. "You know, Clay wanted to throw the biggest housewarming party? I told him he was crazy if I was going to let our colleagues into the same room at the same time. ...I guess it's moot, now. And I'm out two months of rent, too."

Apollo's voice cracks briefly, as if he'd been aiming for annoyed and landed on raw grief instead. His hair has fallen over his eyes, and all Klavier can see from this angle is the brittle twist of his lips.

Klavier is no stranger to grief, by circumstance and by his profession. It's almost easy when dealing with witnesses; he knows how to tell them what they need to hear so they can tell him what he needs to hear, and while his sympathy is never false, it's never personal, either. His own hadn't been nearly as easy - _he_ hadn't always been easy to deal with, this past year, and he wonders if he'd ever made Apollo feel this same sense of helplessness.

"What do you need?" he asks carefully, because dwelling on his own inadequacy is useless, even more so if it stops him from doing something about it.

Apollo looks at him, looks away just as quickly.

"I," he starts, then scrubs a hand over his face and points to a box near the door. "Just - can you pick that up?"

There isn't much to move, but it still takes them two trips and a brief struggle with the ancient elevator system to get everything downstairs.

"These are for the space centre," Apollo says, after he slams the boot shut.

"It's open?"

"No, but I can get us in. What were you going to do if I couldn't?" Apollo asks, apparently still sore about being dragged out at this hour. Klavier doesn't feel guilty, because Apollo's the one who was awake and alone in the middle of the night, and Klavier knows that it's a combination that's never done any good.

He shrugs. "It's not too long to wait."

"Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"It's not too long to wait," he says again, and starts the car.

It's a long drive to the space centre, one that they take in silence. Apollo leans heavily against the door and Klavier wonders briefly if he's fallen asleep, but from the reflection in the passenger side window, Klavier can see him staring blankly out towards the empty highway. He looks very tired, and not because of the time.

As expected, the main entrance of the space centre is shut tight. Apollo directs him towards an inconspicuous barrier gate, which obediently lifts to allow them access when he unzips his bag and holds a familiar blue jacket up to the window. It is, Klavier thinks, a troubling lapse in security for a place that had just seen a bombing and murder, but he's hardly insensitive enough to remark upon it.

Apollo glances over as the gate lowers behind them. "His other tags have already been deactivated," Apollo tells him. It seems he needn't have bothered with tact, after all. "She - they know I hung on to this one."

The employee-only door that they stop in front of is equally accomodating, although the clutter inside the staffroom proves somewhat less so. In a rare turn of events, Klavier's the one with misgivings as Apollo casually handles the delicate-looking equipment.

"They work better if you push them around a little bit, anyway. Ms. Blackquill built them," Apollo adds, his tone suggesting that it's somehow an explanation. Dubious, Klavier leaves him to it.

After several close calls, they finally manage to stack the boxes neatly against the wall. Apollo's face is inscrutable as he folds Clay's jacket and lays it on top, smoothing out wrinkles with a careful hand. It's a long time before he's satisfied.

"Mr. Starbuck will know what to do with these," he says finally, turning away.

Klavier follows as he heads back outside, and almost crashes into him when he hesitates at the door.

"Can I - do you mind if we stay for a while?"

"Whatever you need," Klavier says, because that's genuinely what Klavier wants to give him.

He'd been here just a few days prior, but the space centre is an alien place in the dark. Apollo leads the way easily, slipping between buildings until they find themselves in a small rest area, just two simple benches and trees almost done shedding their leaves for winter.

He can feel the chill of the stone bench through his gloves, but Apollo doesn't show any any sign of discomfort, leaning back heavily, braced against his palms. The stars are splashed across the sky in a way that he hasn't seen before.

"You could see more of them seven years ago," Apollo says, head tilted back. "The city's moved a lot closer, since. Clay used to bitch about light pollution all the time."

"I will have to take your word for it," Klavier says.

"Guess so," Apollo allows. "We used to sneak in here a lot, back in high school. God, we almost got into so much trouble. Mr. Starbuck stepped in for us and we ended up claiming it as extra credit instead."

He finishes with a short laugh.

"It was always his idea. Hell, this whole thing was his idea. We probably would've been ready to kill each other after a week. But I still - I wanted to try."

"I know," Klavier says.

"We could have made it work," Apollo says, soft and lost.

"I know."

"He's the one who wanted to wait, too. That _stupid asshole_," Apollo chokes, curling in on himself. "Why did he have to make us waste _so much time_ - "

The end of his sentence comes out as a harsh sob, muffled into the circle of his arms. "It's not _fair_ - "

"I know," Klavier says. He shifts closer, hesitates, puts an arm over Apollo's shoulders. Apollo doesn't turn towards him, but he doesn't push him away, either. His grief is a self-contained thing, spilling over its confines, and that he lets Klavier witness it is trust enough.

When Apollo allows himself to cry, he does it in the way of children, artless and uncontrolled. Klavier doesn't try to soothe him, just keeps his hold loose, steady as he can through each hitching sob. It's a long time before Apollo's breathing starts to even out, long enough that Klavier can feel the warmth of Apollo's skin where they're pressed together, even through all the layers of their clothes.

Apollo finally straightens, wiping roughly at his face with the back of his hand, and Klavier politely turns away as Apollo starts putting himself back together. He gets to his feet, discreetly stretching away the ache of that awkward position.

"Are you ready?" he asks, when Apollo looks like he's done, surprised at the gentleness of his own voice.

"I'm," Apollo says, then stops short. He takes Klavier's outstretched hand and allows him to pull him to his feet. "I will be," he finishes quietly, almost wonderingly.

They walk back in silence, step for step, slowly because neither of them are looking where they're going. Apollo keeps his gaze on the sky, his eyes still rimmed in red, and Klavier keeps his own on Apollo. When they reach the car, it's Apollo who gets in immediately, pulling the door shut with a decisive thud. Klavier lingers for a moment, rests a hand on the roof of the car, casts a final look upwards. To Klavier, who has never known them otherwise, the stars are very bright.


End file.
